


his final temptation

by YourEverydayFanhuman



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst without plot, Gen, I had tears in my eyes almost the entire time I was writing this, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Out of Character, Sad Ending, Sad boi hours, Suicide, can be read as romantic or platonic, probably out of character for crowley, this is really really short I know, this started as a writing exercise not even about good omens what happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 18:29:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20262577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourEverydayFanhuman/pseuds/YourEverydayFanhuman
Summary: As far as Crowley knows.Aziraphale has been dead for two weeks. Permanently dead.And he doesn't know how to cope.





	his final temptation

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I, YourEveryFanHuman, do not own these character. They are independent spiritual beings who don't need no man *z snap*
> 
> Apologies if this is super duper out of character for Crowley and for any inaccuracies. 
> 
> As well as just a trigger warning, there is a suicide (its not graphic) and pretty depressive talk.

The heavy doors open at his push. It creaks and groans from infrequent use. His footsteps leave the echo of his presence in the dust coating the hallowed ground. It burns his soles, but that hardly matters to him now. Above him, cobwebs hang from the rafters of the church. The pews no longer shine, worn and damaged. He painstakingly makes his way down the aisle. Towards the stained glass window, now stained with dust and spraypaint. He stops in front of the altar to look up at the grand window. It must have been beautiful. Though it can barely be seen under the graffiti decorating the walls. He slinks close. Reaching. His hand carefully graces the glass and he peers at the centre of the piece.

An angel.

The main focus of this particular artwork. Quiet cries stream down his face The glasses that usually grace his face lay forgotten in his flat. In this moment, he does remember them. Angel did always insist against them. At least when they were alone. Knees drop to the ground under the pain of memories. Which, fittingly, only causes more pain to shoot up his legs. He throws his head into his arms. Clutching his shirt. Body heaving from grief. He wants to move. He tries. But he doesn't. 

He releases his shirt from his cramped hand. Lifts his head to gaze at the window one last time. Pushing from the floor he stands. Stumbling, he moves to the basin on the right. He pulls out a teacup from his pocket. As he leans against the wall, he gingerly scoops water into the cup. He holds it away from himself, staring at it.  
He stands there for sometime. Reminising. More tears rain from his eyes, only to dry and be replaced by new tears. He remembers what was and what could have been. If only he was braver than he was. His angel made him braver but even then. 

There isn't much to remember that isn't already on his mind. He's already spent two weeks doing this same thing. Wiping the tears from his face with his free hand, he gives a smile to the empty church. If only shadows could smile back, give reassurance. His jaw aches for it hasn't smiled in what feels like forever. 

Slowly, he lifts the teacup closer.

"Cheers," he whispers softly. Like a prayer. Like a testament, if you will.

Without delay, he brings the cup to his lips. And drinks his final temptation.  
  
  


High above. Past the clouds and the stars.  
  
The screams of an angel echo though heavens halls. 

**Author's Note:**

> .........oops?
> 
> If you have any questions about the writing, that would be cool so you can comment those. and hope you enjoyed the fic (or didn't? it is angst). thanks for reading.


End file.
